


dusk’s favorite, dawn’s last breath

by CheckYourLie (svnwritten)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Fae & Fairies, M/M, Magical Realism, fae meets a cute human type of au, that's the whole plot, the twist is that it's a slow burn, they grow fond of each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:08:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23862055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/svnwritten/pseuds/CheckYourLie
Summary: “I have had a most rare vision. I have had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was.” (A Midsummer’s Night Dream, William Shakespeare)or:Mark Lee has never believed in folk tales until a fae - a child of dreams and nightmares - was standing right in front of him.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	dusk’s favorite, dawn’s last breath

**Author's Note:**

> Guess, who wrote this instead of writing their fic fests' entries? That's me :D  
> But I had this idea, thought it was cute and wrote the first chapter overnight and here we are.  
> Shout-out to Cat for reading it before anyone else did and telling me that it's cute <3

“I have had a most rare vision. I have had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was.”

( _A Midsummer’s Night Dream_ , William Shakespeare)

* * *

They say that the only thing colder than the kiss of death is the shiver than runs down your spine when you hear death giggling behind your back.

According to Mark Lee, it’s undeniably and unmistakably false theory. As he was walking through the forest, watching the last rays of golden sunshine, disappear under the heavy carpet of the night, he thought that there’s nothing colder than the gust of wind around his ankles. He was not prepared to spend so much time in the forest. He also didn’t plan on wandering that deep into its alluring darkness. It was cold. Too cold for his liking. And it was late. Too late to feel safe.

But the chilly darkness looked so inviting in the sunlight when the shadows could only hiss at Mark from the distance, and when everywhere he looked, he could see the waterfalls of life. Now, however, now the shadows were tickling his skin and he felt as though he was the only thing alive. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling.

He gripped the straps of his backpack.

“I know the way back,” he muttered under his breath and picked up his pace. Perhaps, he wasn't one to believe in folk tales but he had to admit that the prospect of spending the night in the deep, dark forest wasn’t how he was planning to spend this evening.

“Shit.” he bit his lower lip.

You see, Mark Lee wasn’t a Believer. Fairies and gnomes belonged to folklore. However, the less warm colors he could see on the sky above his head, the louder voices in his head grew. Because, of course, Mark has heard the stories. Everyone heard them. It was the local tourist attraction, after all. Stories told to fill the locals’ pockets with money and whispered to scared little kids in the middle of the night. 

_“In the darkness, deep down the forest, faes’ path overlaps with our world. They wait until the sky colors with shades of blue, and until the stars pepper the way from their kingdom. They watch from afar, trying to confuse our way out as the dusk approaches. Then, and only then, when the world is dipped in darkness, they visit the forest. Step down from their high castles and underground dungeons. That’s when they can grasp and touch and feel and snatch. They are out for the hunt. Out for blood and fear and death. Faes, midnight dreams, and lucid nightmares.”_

Mark Lee - a literature major - appreciated those stories. He respected folk tales plenty, after all. But as much as he respected them, he also knew that they were nothing more than just stories. Told to fill hearts with beauty and feed them with poetry they craved so deeply. That’s what Mark Lee generally believed.

But it was afternoon and he was in the dark forest and nothing in this situation could be described as “general”, or “normal”, or even “common”. Mark shivered.

 _Those are just stories_. Nothing more. 

So why did he seem to gradually lose his way? Why did it feel as if instead of getting closer to the road, he was wandering even further into the forest? Why did every shadow seem to hide silhouettes and why did every gust of wind sound like a faint whisper?

“Imagination,” said Mark firmly, happy that he was alone. He wouldn’t want anyone to hear how his voice cracked.

He couldn’t know that by then, he was already being watched. 

დდდ

The ground under Mark’s feet wasn’t shaking and yet every step he took was unstable. The air wasn’t frigid but he could feel the crisp bite of cold on the tip of his tongue. The wind didn’t stop blowing but everything was still. Nothing changed but something shifted in the darkness and Mark could feel it. He could feel the eyes of the devil fixed at the back of his neck.

He pulled the collar of his jacket higher and started walking faster. He stubbornly refused to believe that the sun had long disappeared behind the horizon.

The wind whistled. It sounded painfully alike to a chuckle.

დდდ

He could feel in his bones that he wasn’t anywhere near getting out of the forest. It was a deflecting realization. The one that paralyzed from the inside, licking the end of your throat with fear and anxiety. The one that pushed oxygen out of your lungs as you fought for your breath. 

“It’s all in my head, those are just stories,” Mark whispered to himself quietly. “It’s my imagination. That’s what it is.”

His steps were growing heavier and slower. The hours of wandering around the forest finally nagged his muscles enough to remind him about his body’s limits. He was tired. So, _so_ tired. And though he didn’t want to stop, he didn’t want to take a break, an invisible force pulled him on the glade and gently pushed him on the ground, to sit under an oak tree. 

Mark dropped on the grass, wincing at its coldness. It was summer but the ground beneath him felt almost frigid under his fingers. He absently skimmed his hand over the tiny bluebell growing beside him. Just one tiny bluebell in the dark, deep forest. It was truly a miracle that Mark spotted it in the complete darkness that-

His muscles tensed and his shoulders hitched. He could _see_ that bluebell. He could _see_ that bluebell because the darkness wasn’t as dark as it used to be. Because the night wasn’t black anymore. Because there was something... something white and delicate slipping through the lone strands of grass. Light. White light.

The light was the first thing he noticed, but surely it must have appeared at last. It must have appeared at last because the boy was already standing there, as if he was waiting, when Mark raised his gaze.

He looked Mark’s age but he could as well be one day or hundreds of years old and Mark wouldn’t be able to tell. 

He looked pensive, the boy, but Mark could feel his eyes on himself. Cold, calculus, hungry for something Mark couldn’t pinpoint. Eyes darker than the night they cleared out. Beautiful, beautiful, dark eyes that wanted to hunt down Mark’s soul.

He, the boy, looked like an embodiment of a dream and a twin brother of a nightmare. He looked like the treachery of the real world and like fantasy’s love affair. He looked like dusk’s favorite and dawn’s last breath. He looked everything hopeful and poisonous. Mark had never seen anyone that enchanting.

The boy couldn’t possibly be a human.

Mark was doomed.

“Are you lost?” he said angling his head to the side. His voice sounded like a rustle of paper and a prayer of an old willow. Mark shuddered. 

“So what if I am?” Mark replied defensively, quicking rising to his feet. He wasn’t going to give up without putting up a fight. Even if he was shaking to the core. 

Mark wasn’t sure what kind of response he expected but he couldn’t help but tense even more when the boy - _the fae_ \- broke into a fit of giggles. (Painful giggles, giggles that cut like tiny shreds of glass, leaving a memory of the sound of the skin, painting ears with the splashes of danger.)

The giggling stopped as abruptly as it started. Like someone cut it off with a knife.

“So what if you are?” the fae arched his eyebrow. “If you’re lost, you’d rather find your way, wouldn’t you?”

“Maybe…” Mark trailed off, trying his best to be careful with words. Words were like blades in faes’ world. They could be turned against him and sank in his chest without a warning. 

The fae took a step forward and Mark instinctively took a step back, trying to increase the distance. His lips quivered when he noticed the smirk dancing in the corners of fae’s mouth. Perhaps he could smell how Mark reeked of anxiety and fear.

“Stay away,” Mark said. He wanted it to sound firm and threatening but, in the end, it sounded more like a plea. “Stay away, please.”

The smirk widened. 

“But you want to get out of here, don’t you? I know a way out,” the fae replied and took another step forward. His eyes glimmered in the milky darkness.

“I want to get out of _the forest_. And away from anything that could harm me.” corrected Mark. He heard that words were binding for faes. And he didn’t want to risk anything.

Fae laughed again, throwing his head to the back, exposing his throat. Mark wasn’t sure if he closed the eyes out of habit or out of spite. To show how much he wasn’t afraid of the human in front of him. 

Mark didn’t know how or when the fae moved close enough to stand right in front of him. But there he was - grinning at Mark - just a few breaths away. The air around them tingled with stinging anticipation.

“But, of course, wasn’t that exactly what I was asking about?” the fae asked, tilting his head once again. His eyes were full of mirth. Dark, dark, beautiful, beautiful eyes. Up close he was even more beautiful. Even more inhuman. Both terrifying and captivating. 

A couple of seconds passed until Mark realized that he was asked a question. He gulped and looked away. He couldn’t stand looking at the fae any second longer. Cold sweat was running down his spine.

“I’ve heard that I should clarify everything your kind tells me. Whatever you offer me. Question every question and doubt every promise.” Mark muttered under his breath.

The fae hummed. With the corners of his eyes, Mark could see a bright razor-sharp grin. 

In retrospect, he realized that he must have seen the fingers coming to touch his chin. In reality, one second he was staring at the ground, the next he was looking back at the fae, cold fingers keeping his head raised. 

“ _My kind_ , you say…” the fae hummed thoughtfully. “It is a bit generalizing, don’t you think? You don’t even know me,” he added, dropping his voice an octave lower. It wasn’t a threat but it sounded like one.

“Maybe if I knew your name, I’d be more trusting.” Mark hissed, lowering his voice a bit. His eyes were fixed at moles adoring faes’ features.

Fireflies glimmered in the darkness of the forest, far away from the glade and Mark shuddered. Fae’s tongue poked out of his mouth to wet his lower lip. Standing this close, seeing him from such a short distance, made Mark realize that fae’s teeth were as sharp as his laugh. Could probably break Mark’s skin in a split of a second.

“I can give you my name if you give me yours.” the fae suggested.

“I’m not a fool.”

“Never said you were one, _Weakling_.” 

Goosebumps broke on Mark’s skin. Suddenly he was grateful for the fingers that were still touching his chin. Right now, they felt like the only force that kept him standing.

“It’s different,” Mark replied shakily. 

He hated how pleased the fae looked.

“I can take you away from here, you don’t have to be afraid.” he purred and the sound vibrated through Mark’s body.

“Who said anything about being afraid?” there was no way in pretending that his voice wasn’t shaking.

The fae chuckled again. This time the sound was warmer but Mark wasn’t sure if it’s because it was more honest or because fae desperately tried to gain his trust. He hoped it wasn’t the latter because he hated to disappoint, even a fae. 

“You’re funny, I like you.” 

Well, that wasn’t what Mark expected to hear.

The fingers dropped from his chin, slid down his chest, scraping over his jacket and, at last, slid into his palm. It felt like holding a cube of ice. 

“Let’s get you out of here, _Weakling_.” the fae said and turned on his heel, pulling Mark after himself. 

დდდ

Mark’s heart was racing and all he could think of was if fae could hear that sound. The sound of his fear. The sound of horror pumping through his veins. He looked at the boy walking beside him. He wasn’t holding his hand anymore. Apparently he wasn’t afraid of Mark running away. 

It scared Mark a lot. That fae knew he didn’t have to keep Mark by force for him to stay by his side.

Mark had no idea where they were heading. A faint light, marking fae’s aura, didn’t reach further than a few meters ahead of them. Aside from that light - cold and unforgiving - the forest was still bathed in complete darkness. Even if Mark tried to run away - he didn’t know in which direction he should head to.

Something rustled in the brush nearby. Mark hunched his shoulders and anxiously looked at fae walking by his side. He didn’t expect to meet his eyes (dark eyes, beautiful eyes), already staring at Mark, with a spark of amusement. Mark frowned and fae chuckled and shook his head.

“Don’t be afraid, Weakling. Nothing is going to hurt you as long as I’m around. The forest knows me well.” fae rolled his eyes and motioned for Mark to stop as if sensing his doubt. 

Glancing if he still had Mark’s attention, the fae leaned down and reached out, dipping his hand in the brushes. At first - nothing happened. Nothing happened until white light rolled down fae’s tanned skin and dived into the green maze around his skin. 

Mark’s eyes widened, as he watched plants gently swirl around the wrist and up the smooth forearm, crawling on the skin but not leaving even the tiniest scratch. A mesmerizing show, nothing like Mark had ever seen. It was as though the plant craved fae’s touch, like it was starved for contact with him. 

And it wasn’t a one-sided affection, or so it seemed. Everything about the fae’s body language changed. His movements were slower and more fluent and transparent as if he was dancing. As if he was flirting with hazel bush and silently gushing over wild raspberry flowers. Fae’s eyes, dark, beautiful eyes, grew softer, sparkling with something dangerously close to affection. The smile quirking his lips lacked the sharp edge, smoothened with respect and kindness. Mark’s heart stuttered and, like drawn by an invisible power, he moved forward, his fingers reaching out to touch too. Looking for contact. Was it contact with nature or with fae’s - he wasn’t sure. 

The fae, however, was much quicker - suddenly yanking his arm away from the bush and pushing Mark away from himself with the force that left the human stumbling and gasping for breath. The leaves rustled loudly and it sounded like shattered glass and broken promise. The flowers folded back into tiny buds. The fae hissed and brought his wrist to his chest. 

Thick, red drops rolled down his arm. Mark’s heart stung. _He did this._

“Don’t touch what’s not yours,” the fae hissed furiously, eyebrows furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line. His canines were sunk in his lower lip, their sharpness standing out against plump, soft lips. 

Mark’s heart was hammering against his ribcage. He wasn’t sure if it was just his impression, or had the space around them really became darker and thicker with tension. 

“I… I’m sorry, I…” Mark stammered but it seemed that it wasn’t the right thing to say, as fae’s face grew darker and his eyes - more furious. 

The last sparks of humanity were brushed away with the rage and fury.

“What.” fae barked out and it wasn’t a question. It was an accusation. “Weren’t you warned? Nobody told you that you mustn’t touch what’s poisonous? That what belongs to fae’s world, should remain there because there’s no cure for fae’s toxins in your world?”

Drops of blood slipped down his elbow and fell on the ground, instantly sinking into the wet soil. Perhaps fae’s blood always belonged to the forest.

“N-no, it’s not that…” Mark tried again, barely standing straight, feeling his knees wobble and his head spin. Every cell of his body begged him to start running but his feet were glued to the ground.

Dark eyes blazed even brighter and for a split of a second Mark feared that soon, the whole forest would ignite with this fire.

“Not like _that_ , Weakling?” fae laughed mockingly and this time it reminded of a crackling fire. “Perhaps, you wanted to try me, huh _Weakling_? Is that how it is? You wanted this to happen? You thought that the poison ought to kill me too?”

Mark frantically shook his head. His eyes were stinging with angry tears. Why would the fae just _listen_?

“Not that either?” fae snapped, taking a long step forward, bringing his hand close to Mark’s face. “You’re not too convincing, dear. You gotta use your voice more. Don’t you know? Faes treasure words above everything that’s on earth.”

By the time he spat the last words, he was much closer than before. Closer than Mark expected, closer than he anticipated. Close enough that Mark could feel the fire coming from fae’s eyes on his own skin. Tingling warmth and itching nervousness. And something else. Something akin to panic. 

Mark sucked a breath. This fae wasn’t furious at Mark because he offended him. He was _worried_ about him.

“You’re scared…” uttered Mark, previous anxiety melting under thick and hot confusion. “You’re scared that I could die…” he dumbly pointed at his own chest.

Fae sneered and suddenly he was leaning away, crossing arms on his chest. His thin shirt was peppered with dark drops of drying blood. 

“Of course, I am,” he exhaled with difficulty. Mark could still feel a hot breath on his cheeks. “Do you know how much trouble I would get into, if you died in my presence? They wouldn’t let me out for the next century.” 

Mark’s eyebrows raised up in sheer surprise. He refused to admit that suddenly the burden - the fear - weighing on his heart melted and dripped down on the ground, sinking along with fae’s blood.

“Wait,” Mark shook his head before fae started speaking again, “So you don’t want to kill me?”

Fae’s eyebrows knitted together for a moment and his lips parted slightly as if he couldn’t quite understand the question. Mark bit his lower lips. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe it was once again - a wrong question. Perhaps, he misunderstood. Maybe faes had some weird rules about killing humans, maybe they had to perform a bloody ritual, to draw as much of blood from his body as it was possible, which resulted in a long and painful death and maybe-

All the thoughts spiraling in Mark’s head were cut off when, once again that night, a peal of surprised laughter ripped out of fae’s throat, making him bend in half and grasp the shirt covering his stomach. Making him stumble on his legs and shake his shoulder. Turning his eyes in crescents and pulling the color of his cheeks. _Oddly human_. 

This laugh sounded different. Like it was dipped in golden honey and sprinkled with purple lavender. 

Mark’s cheeks heated up. He was being laughed at. He was being laughed at by a fae. He ducked his head, feeling the warmth spill across his face. 

“You really thought, I’m going to kill _you_ , Weakling?” fae wheezed loudly. It was probably the least elegant noise he had made the entire night. Mark’s blush deepened. “How did you think I was going to do it? Stuff you with wild berries and wait till the poison kicks in? Or perhaps something more bloody, huh Weakling? Perhaps you waited for a knife against his throat?”

Mark groaned quietly and covered his face with a sleeve of his jacket which only intensified fae’s laughter. Mark thought, even if it was just his imagination for sure, that somewhere along the wheezes and giggles he heard a tiny “cute” slipping out of fae’s mouth.

“You don’t know the stories around your kind,” Mark defended himself weakly. “I was told,” he mentally cringed at the ‘I’, “that the faes… that they are lethal.”

The boy looked at him, his eyes half-lidded and sparkling with pride and amusement. For a moment they stood like that, just looking at each other. A trial with two judges and no witnesses aside of the cold wind brushing leaves above their heads. 

And then, a gust of wind kissed fae’s eyelids and, just like that, in a span of a second, his eyes were dark again, dark but still so beautiful.

“That’s because we are lethal. At least for you, weaklings. For you faes are lethal if they’re not careful enough.” fae shrugged, and this time his voice was hollow, stripped of any sign of cheerfulness. He took a deep breath. “We are lethal but I’m not going to kill you. I wasn’t lying you know. I will take you out of this forest. You’ve paid plenty already.” 

Fae moved forward without a warning, forcing Mark to follow. He felt that if he stayed behind a bit too long, shadows gossiping around them would capture him and leave let him go. Poisonous shadows. Shadows out of this world.

დდდ

“This was the first time you said you’d take me ‘out of the forest’. You didn’t say ‘ _forest_ ’ earlier. You said ‘ _here_ ’,” pointed out Mark after a while, when the night around them stopped taking his breath away.

Fae looked at him, smirking delicately.

“Perhaps you’re right…”

“Does it mean that earlier you didn’t plan on helping me find the way home?” Mark shot back tentatively, trying to shape his voice as coy and soft as possible.

Corners of fae’s mouth twitched.

“I guess, you’ll never know that, _Weakling_.” 

Mark pressed his lips tighter. He guessed there was no use in pressing further into the issue. Especially since he wasn’t sure if ultimately he wanted to know the answer. 

დდდ

Mark’s fingers skimmed over the edge of his sleeve. He wasn’t sure if the cold he felt, was coming from fae beside him, or was it just an integral part of the nightscape in this peculiar forest. The faint sound of cicadas was breaking through the eerie silence that used to wrap around him like a bubble ever since the first time he laid his eyes on the fae. 

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed since then. It seemed like forever and a blink of an eye ago. The time was slipping through Mark’s fingers like hot sand and crystal clear water. 

“What did you mean by saying that I’ve already paid you enough?” asked Mark suddenly, remembering how oddly this sentence struck, once he heard it. 

“Ah,” hummed the fae, “wouldn’t you like to know that…”

Mark hated how smug fae looked. Painfully and dangerously human. And Mark wasn’t sure if it was another of his tricks or was the line between humans and faes thinner than he initially thought. 

“Why do you have to be so goddamn secretive about everything?” he grumbled quietly, hoping that his bitter words wouldn’t be heard.

But, of course, no such luck for Mark Lee.

“Why would I tell you my secrets, Weakling?” asked fae rhetorically. “You’re not the first human I met here, you’re not the first who asked me about things, in reality, they don’t want to know. I know your kind well, _Weakling_. Your curiosity be doomed. You just can’t keep your mouth shut, do you? No, it’s much easier to allow you to leave with nothing but a silly story about a boy met in the forest.”

Mark bit the inside of his chin, thinking of fae’s words.

“No one would believe me if I can’t tell anything specific,” he said finally, looking at fae expectedly. 

“Exactly. You can tell them how I look but, speaking from experience, you humans are not too good at describing faes. At the end, all of us seem the same when you paint us in your stories.” 

“I could draw you,” Mark pointed out immediately.

Fae rewarded him with a wide smile. His dark eyes didn’t seem as threatening as they had at the beginning. 

“You can try, _Weakling._ ” the air vibrated with a soundless laugh, “But I have to warn you that no one before you succeeded.” 

Mark smiled involuntarily. 

დდდ

Mark didn’t realize he was standing on the road until he couldn’t sense cold, but familiar, presence on his right side. Only then did he feel a solid asphalt beneath his feet. Only then did he see street lamps in the distance. His eyes widened, as he soaked his sight in the warm light. In the light that didn’t look like a bite of frost and whisper of disturbing dreams. 

“We’re here,” he whispered, both in shock and awe, “You really took me out of there!” he added, turning on his heel, only to see the fae standing at the edge of the forest where the streetlight couldn’t reach him.

Him - the boy, the fae - standing out against the darkness of the forest, looking like a bright angel of death in the gates of hell. The delicate smile was still gracing his features. Beautiful. That’s how Mark would describe the sight. That’s how he would describe the fae.

“I promised, didn’t I?” fae shrugged nonchalantly. “Faes believe that words are binding, you know that very well, don’t you?” 

Mark found himself nodding stiffly. All night he dreamed of getting out of the forest but now, standing in the middle of the road, he suddenly wanted to stalk closer to the fae. Ask one more question. Negotiate his name and watch him talk to the darkness, whisking away Mark’s fears. 

Perhaps faes’ were lethal. Perhaps they were deadly and toxic but Mark found himself intoxicated with something else.

He took a step towards the fae but he only shook his head.

“Stay where you are, _Weakling_. Or even better - go home. I don’t have time to babysit you for any longer.” sighed the fae, rubbing his injured wrist. “Someone has to take care of that poison in my blood before forest sucks me dry,” he added, fluttering his eyes as he pressed his finger below the wound. “Go, Weakling.” 

Mark shifted on his feet, his knees once again made out of cotton. 

“I…” he started, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. His gaze dropped to the ground as he tried to choose the right words, as he tried to design the perfect sentence that would wrap up the comfortable silence between them. That would embrace everything he wanted to say.

He tried braining the words into a ‘thank you’, like musicians try to brain notes into a tune. Bead after bead, word after word he tried putting his thought in order.

By the time Mark raised his head, the fae was gone along with his trace of light, and Mark was left with a fistful of imaginary beads.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thank you to anyone who stick till the end of chapter 1! I hope to wrap the story in 2 chapters but don't be surprised if I stretch it out into 3 chaptered story ^^"
> 
> feel free to cry over Haechan's moles with me on [my twitter](https://twitter.com/sunbathed_)


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